


My Darling, Suddenly

by bulletandsophia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chance Meetings, F/M, Late at Night, Mortality, Romance, Second Chances, Soulmates, tender moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletandsophia/pseuds/bulletandsophia
Summary: It took a long time before Sansa got to choose her drink.





	1. Divisions

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno where this is going but i really just want it out of my system. heh!

The quiet humming of the freezer filled her head with a hypnotizing buzz and the bright neon yellow color of the energy drinks stacked on the shelves did not help ease the nausea either.

Truthfully, Sansa was in no mood to stand for a prolonged time in front of the store’s beverage section but surely, people took their time to think about what they want to purchase, right? That, or maybe she didn’t exactly know why she entered the convenience store in the first place only to feel the cold air from the AC taking away the slight grudge and irritation she had for herself for deciding to take a walk around town on such a hot afternoon.

Despite this, as she still continued to stare blindly at the roster of beverage choices in front of her—and as the cold air of the freezer blast quite comfortably again on her heated cheeks—Sansa knew it wasn’t the hot weather nor the brightly colored drinks that bothered her so fully.

Was it only mere minutes ago, when an apparition rendered her speechless and made her hold her breath, erasing all thoughts and reasons of why she was in the store and instead flooded her with certain embarrassment and regret and of painful memories she allowed—or _forced_ herself, rather—to finally forget?

“…Hi.” he just whispered then, with a croak in his voice, jerking to a full stop as he turned from the corner of the snack aisle only to find her browsing this section of the store.           

Sansa managed a small, nervous smile before turning away and pulled open a freezer door, starting to sweat all over and evidently consumed with so much in her head to the point of combusting that she barely noticed that he, too, was taking his time, frozen still on the same spot, (mostly) gaping at the stained tiled floor, and stealing occasional glances at her direction—ironically during the exact moments she stole some of his too.            

 _Please leave_ , she almost begged after another fleeting, _sweeping_ , almost a shadowy pass of eye contact.

But he didn’t move an inch away.

Instead, Sansa felt him move closer—slowly, like she was a wild wolf to tame—but nonetheless, still determinedly on his way closer _to her_.               

Sansa turned to look, finally, as he neared and his expression from behind the glass door was uncertain. Perhaps in a little while, he’ll run his hand through his hair as he always did whenever he was nervous.

“Uhm,” he croaked again. “… energy drinks.”

Sansa frowned. But his gaze softened at her confusion and a small smile quickly escaped his lips. 

“The energy drinks,” he spoke more clearly this time. “It’s right there. In _that_ freezer.”

Sansa turned to look at the freezer she was still currently blocking. Another bout of cold embarrassment trickled on her back. _Damn_.

“Oh.”

She stepped aside and allowed him some space. 

“Thanks,” he murmured as he moved past and grabbed a bottle of—

 _Lemon Rush_ , Sansa thought to herself with wonderment. With a slight relief. From what, she was not exactly sure.

His back was still turned towards her and Sansa watched how he read and studied the nutritional facts, wary as always of the sugar content. And from her view, she could not help but study the rest of him too. He looked taller? Or just thinner? Still lean but looking gangly as if tired; shoulders slumped, stubbles in his jawline, hair untrimmed and messy and curlier in its disarray.

 _It’s just been a month_ , Sansa noted.

“Did you know this supposedly ‘healthy’ drink is almost four hundred calories?” he spoke, finally, still with his back towards her.

“No… I didn’t.”

He turned then. Slowly.

Cautiously yet again.

But he looked at her nonetheless. And the ghost of a smile so similar from the so many better days they had together sprung to his face quite so surprisingly it slightly made her heart ache for hadn’t they decided that that was a look already meant to be for another?

Still, he smiled at her like an ignorant fool. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

Then he closed the freezer door and took a breath.

“It’s… it’s nice seeing you, Sansa.” he said, braving whatever internal and external battles this circumstance instantly brought about.

Sansa only managed a small nod because truly, she still couldn’t believe he was there, mere inches away from her when just minutes ago, in her solitary at the beverage section, she had in her mind, in her heart—and for all of her life—that she would not and cannot see Jon Snow ever again.

_Could he believe this?_

He was so close. So, so close that she can reach him if she only tried.

But Sansa can only give him another blink as he gave way for a deep breath of his own. Her silence, such an unwelcoming disposition (and quite the contrast to her combusting and panicking thoughts) ultimately shifted the trance. Without another word—from him, from her—with the bottle in his hand, then of the sudden loud chorus of teenagers walking inside the store disturbing the remaining hold that stretched in between them, Jon turned and finally walked away from her.

 

*

 

It took a long time before Sansa got to choose her drink.

 _Lemon Rush_.

Then she senselessly walked through the aisles pretending to still browse but knowing that she just needed the time to compose herself. She gripped the neck of the bottle tighter, making her mouth start to water at the thought of tasting the beverage again after all these years. Was it freshman year at the Uni when she swore off these sugary drinks?

At the cashier, the clerk gave her a bored look before dispensing her item in a brown bag. And then as she stepped outside, she can’t help but admire the charm of her surroundings with the brick-walled buildings and hole-in-the-wall restaurant; the lush trees, the flower shop in the corner, the fairy lights she knew would be illuminating anytime soon; then the sun enveloping anything and everything it touched into a yellow-orange glow as it slowly descended on the horizon.

She’ll miss this, Sansa admitted to herself. If there was anything in the world she’ll miss the most, it was probably this. This view. Then the ability to feel and take it all in without any fear, without any limitations; with only just the thought of it being such a great day. And so would be the next day, and the next, and the next.

The thought soon tasted sour in her mouth, however, and of the truths that seeped in still in that beautiful image: that flowers still withered, that fairy lights dimmed; trees get bone-naked and the setting sun only ushered a great darkness.

Sansa took a deep breath before finally making her way down the street, repressing this other bout of silly thoughts away, and then turned around the next corner. Then reaching for the drink in her brown bag, Sansa felt the anticipation in her grow and grow until she cannot almost contain it. And then realizing, she could actually cry at the enormity of this moment.

So, this was how it felt. The last time.

 _A_ last time.

 _A last chance_.

She twisted the cap off the drink and heard the quiet fizzy pop. Then, the sweet sugary smell instantly burst from the bottle and penetrated her senses, making her slightly tingle all over. But just when her nerves finally died down and she was more than ready to take the first sip, down the street, standing there just a few feet away, like the greatest conundrum in her life, was Jon Snow, smoking and agitated beside some city bollard.  

With the bottle half-way to her lips, Sansa was glad she had still managed to replace the cap again and place the drink back in her brown bag.

_Now what?_

Another moment had to pass and few onlookers had made some strange glances but it didn’t matter because he just saw her. His demeanor relaxed, at least. Flicking the cigarette on his hand away, Jon sighed and walked towards her. “I thought you’d never get out of there.”

She could not speak.

“Sansa,”

She did not know what to feel. Hearing her name again from his lips delighted and yet tormented her but the real question remained, _what was he still doing there?_

“Do you still drink coffee?” he only asked.

Her breathing was rapid and her thoughts were blank. _Can she still drink coffee?_ She can feel herself asking _him_ because how easily had she forgotten.

She kept silent instead.

But he chuckled, “Doesn’t matter.”

He heaved another heavy breath and Sansa can see the tension on his shoulders, the worried look, perhaps even the small panic she was feeling herself.

“Come with me.” he started. “For coffee, for tea. For a walk, even. I really don’t care what.”

His eyes were searching and there was a certain urgency in them that made Sansa fall once again in a trance—and in the comfort of this undeniable want and need he still had for her, right at this moment, it sounded almost like a plea; and then, like a stain (or a curse) that just would not go away, her undeniable need for him too.

“Please, Sansa,” Jon said so again with a breath. “ _Just come with me._ ”

She looked up to the sky and to the slow movements of the clouds coated in the pink and yellow and orange glaze of the setting sun.

It was dusk. A moment of reprieve she could take for herself before the darkness can begin. Can envelop. Can become her ultimate end.

But then in his eyes, as Sansa finally looked back to where Jon still patiently waited for her, it only promised a beginning of an endless night.

 

* * *

 


	2. Collusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night and the other nights that followed were vague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing feels like climbing a mountain nowadays.

They ended up in a diner a couple of blocks away. Sansa should’ve said no, she knew. But what she knew to be true weren’t exactly of importance anymore. Sitting opposite each other in a worn-out booth with both their unopened _Lemon Rush_ bottles in the middle of the table was an image she never had predicted for herself and for Jon given their circumstance.

“You don’t drink this,” he said, now toying with the two bottles. “You _can’t_ drink this.”

Sansa only shrugged.

Shaking his head with disapproval, “So stubborn...”

She was. And she always has been. But this was not part of their agreement. He did not have the right to say anything about her anymore. This, whatever this was of them sitting on the diner— _together_ , was an idea obliterated the moment they parted and she’d let him go.

“What?” asked Jon as he studied her again. “This is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

 _Yes_.

“No, not really.”

He grimaced at first, disbelieving her words (for he should; _he should_ ) but offered a boring, uninterested chuckle soon after. “You haven’t really been the kind to face the music, have you? With your pretty clothes and your pretty face… you can almost get away with everything.”

The words annoyed Sansa simply because she knew it to be true; the free drinks she got from dive bars during college (to Jon’s amusement and annoyance), the attention from family members (especially of Robb’s overprotectiveness), the punishment she’d get away from when she was a teenager; the fancy dates, the concerts, the free gifts; her being the daughter of Eddard Stark, corporate CEO…

The denial was well-practiced in her tongue. “I highly doubt that, Jon.”

He slouched back as she heard an exasperated laugh. “So, in all the dullest of days, more than a month, give or take, after our break up, you just decided to come out of your hibernation and buy _Lemon Rush_ when god knows Robb would kill anyone who allows you out of the apartment?”

She huffed, knowing the truth might seep in there somewhere, sometime. “What are you implying?”

He hesitated at first, embarrassed maybe for whatever his assumptions were, but frowned and asked nonetheless. “Were you seeking me out?”

“Tell me,” Jon continued, moving forward to lean and almost reach out to her, his hand sliding on the table, not giving her a chance to even take a surprised breath. “Tell me, Sansa. Were you? Because how then can I stop myself from asking you to come with me when the whole goddamn world knows—when _you_ know—that I completely have no control over myself when it comes to you?”

He almost sneered in the pure honesty of it. Of the stupidity in it. And then of the sudden regret and loneliness, breathing out soundly in resignation, leaning back on the booth, as if he didn’t want to be here but simply had no other choice in the matter.

Sansa had to look down. Pulling herself away, hiding her fidgeting hands beneath the table. Suddenly, she wanted to apologize, not because she was seeking him out—and she truly was not—but for all the countless other things she owed him; a list in her head that just seemed to go on and on and on. 

She was only about to open her lips when Jon beat her to it.

“I didn’t want to see you again,” he added as plain as day, looking out on the window to the busy sidewalk. His words stung and Sansa kept her hands in a tight grip. She felt the surge of emotions climbing high up on her chest she feared she could sob at any second. He was ruthless, a side of him she knew but a side he never once bestowed on her. Not ever. But Sansa realized this must be her doing altogether. A product of her own cruelty thirty or so nights ago when she asked him to leave even if he didn’t want to. Even if he said he could endure. That _they_ would endure.

Together.

How could he ever want anything to do with her anymore?

Her silence ticked Jon off, she could see. He was clenching his jaw tightly and he looked too distracted to even take in whatever was happening out on the streets. Clearly, this was a mistake. But as she was about to stand and finally leave him on his own, Jon pursed his lips in a sort of wonderment.

“ _How_ did you get out of the apartment, anyway?” he asked, taking a quick dubious glance at her direction.

“Well,” Sansa can’t hide her embarrassment. “Let’s just say I gave Podrick the day-off. And with Robb and his staff out of town… it wasn’t really that difficult.”

“You know you’re risking your poor bodyguard getting fired, right?”

She shrugged. “Nobody needs to know I went out.”

“But _I_ know,” said Jon as if threatening to tell her secret. “And I’m not happy you’re sneaking around.”

“Jon—”

“And unattended at that,” he cut her off. “Roaming around the city—”

“Jon, please—”

“—on your own, without anyone knowing—”

“I can handle myself—”

“—where you are or what—”

“I’m not a child—”

“—you are doing—”

“Jon—”

“— _For god’s sake, Sansa, what were you thinking?_ ”

Sansa let out a huff instead and ignored the stern look on Jon’s face. She didn’t need more of this lecture, not when she’d been getting it constantly at home too.

“I just wanted some fresh air.” she finally reasoned with a small voice, avoiding all means of looking at his face again for should her emotions betray her, then there was nowhere and nothing to hide any longer because hadn’t she been unconsciously seeking him— _craving for him—_ nonetheless? However full her denial, she knew she missed Jon wholeheartedly and while this chance encounter hadn’t been the most ideal scenario in her head, she was glad for it nonetheless; if only to see him again for a while, in this lonesome diner, at dusk, and even when much later, they have to say goodbye once again.

The certain finality to it gave her a shiver. When the last time she hid her fear well, this time it took more of her courage to submit to another parting. Greedily, Sansa stared at Jon—to the gray eyes that never lied but could hate with much fury; to that feeling of running her hand through his dark hair with abandon, to the mouth that devoured hers constantly, _endlessly_ , as if wanting to take her whole with him; his hand clenched as she continued to stare, as if he too were memorizing her all over again.

“Sansa,” but he said so in a whisper enveloped with so much plea. He meant for her to stop. Perhaps, he couldn’t take it. And fairly, it had only been a mere month or so since she broke it off. She did not mean to ambush him when wounds were still fresh—and not when she’d always known what laid ahead.

For her.

For them both.

Sansa looked the other way, finally, picking up the discarded menu card beside her and started to absently read.

“Shall we order?” she asked almost too joyfully.

Across, Jon only nodded in agreement.

 

*

 

 

“Do you hate me?” she stopped and murmured in the midst of the cutlery and food between them.

Taken aback, Jon can only ruffle his hair before turning his gaze back to her questioning one. In the scheme of things, he knew he should’ve hated her considering that looking back, he’d never given her any reason to doubt his devotion to her, whatever the situation may be.

He understood her fear, her vulnerability the moment Robb told him of the truth days after they’ve parted. He remembered how pathetically he stood in front of the Starks’ apartment building to wait for Sansa only to be told she’d flown out of town. Decisions and life plans that perhaps did not already include him. He wallowed his grief in bottles of beer and whiskey until he could no longer feel his face and evidently threw up at one of the Stark’s fancy cars that eventually, Robb took much pity and drove him home.

It wasn’t until that night when Robb finally left him to fend for himself after much unveiling (facts that Jon didn’t seem to comprehend fully that night), that he searched for more alcohol but ended up in the opposite side of town and took a swing at Samwell Tarly as soon as _he_ opened his also posh apartment door. 

Sam did not even look surprised at his attack.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon remembered growling at his old friend.

The man simply whimpered, “It was not my place to say.”

That night and the other nights that followed were vague: work deadlines met albeit poorly performed, the sink slowly but surely filling up with unwashed dishes, several phone calls received but sent directly to voicemail; bills continuing to pile on the coffee table, Ghost grumpily snatching away for himself what little possession Sansa had left in his apartment; then of Robb’s short and useless messages (‘ _Sansa’s okay._ ’, ‘ _She’s sleeping._ ’, ‘ _She doesn’t want to see you._ ’) that remained the only words that helped make him fall asleep at night—groveling in the fact that those stupid, intangible letters were what now made his relationship with Sansa.

With eyes hurt, mind tired, heart torn to pieces, still, Jon Snow woke up every morning with the glimmering hope that he would bump into Sansa Stark someday when she least expected it, when she was unprepared and he could finally lay all of his grief and pain at her foot where she could no longer avoid it. For when she perhaps thought their separation could save him, it did not lead to any relief at all. All the more, it led him to some darkness he was not sure he could recover from.

Ten days in the break-up and he hated her with all his might, to the point that he swore all red-haired people were the ugliest and vilest of creatures on the planet. He deleted Robb’s messages, he ignored Sam’s calls, and lastly, he promised to never think or speak of Sansa Stark ever again.

Until one day, today, where she suddenly appeared when _he_ least expected her too, where he was unprepared—for god knows Sansa Stark did not belong inside a convenience store—and she laid down the simplest of words on his feet and he could no longer avoid her and the simmering ache in his chest which began the moment he chanced upon her slender form and gazed a second too long when he knew— _he definitely knew_ —he could’ve walked away from the beverage aisle without her knowing and yet, _he didn’t_.

He was a fool and he knew it too. And perhaps it was all because he didn’t have the heart to undergo the same torture of not knowing her status or whereabouts all over again—but simply (he knew this too), he just cared too damned much about Sansa that while his agony was not at all forgettable nor at passing, he was still given this glorious day filled with so much of her, _of finding her_ , in all of her tangible, red-haired glory, that he would goddamn take it.

So, no. Jon knew he could never hate Sansa in this lifetime or in any lifetime for that matter (so what was with that question, anyhow?). The thought rendered such a comic relief he almost sputtered a laugh that he decided to tell her truthfully, if only to let her see and share in the sudden warmth of his euphoria.

“No, I don’t hate you.” Jon hid a smile as he looked at her, “And I think, I never could.”

 

*

 

“Have you seen Dr. Tarly recently?”

Sansa stirred her coffee slowly, a dark look crossing her face. So much for surviving the afternoon without any mention of it.

“Last week.” she can only promptly reply.

“ _And?_ ”

She sighed, raising the cup to her lips for a quick sip before answering, “The same.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
